Wonder Woman

As a young girl growing up in the Seventies, I found many people on television whose lives I coveted. I dreamt of living in a genie bottle with the ability to cross my arms, nod my head and blink, and then, bam, I’d be transported to Paris, or I’d redecorate my bedroom with a frilly pink bedspread and matching pillow shams, or fill my closet with Jordache jeans and Nike sneakers, the white ones with the red stripe. I longed for powers that would allow me to crinkle my nose with a wiggle and create a perfect home with the perfect family. When The Sonny & Cher Show came on, my sisters and I would sprint to our bedrooms and fling clothes out of drawers until we found our turtlenecks. We ran back down the hall to the living room, pulling them on over our heads, panicked we were going to miss the opening song. Bent over at the waist with our heads hanging down, we removed the top until the neck of the shirt was stuck on our head and when we stood up, the sleeves and body fell dramatically behind us. We flipped our head ever so slightly to the right and then the left, while singing and swaying, our “hair” swaying with us. Just like Cher.

I anxiously awaited the end of the hour, when typically, for the last song, they would bring their daughter, Chastity Sun, on stage. I longed for her straight, blonde hair, her flat stomach, and belly button. I envied her two-piece, gold and glittery outfit. I wished for her parents. I yearned for her life. I wanted to be her.

But the hero of them all for me was always Wonder Woman. Watching Lynda Carter live life as Diana Prince, a smart, beautiful, professional woman by day, and then have this alternate universe where she was a badass warrior replete with bracelets that could stop bullets, a rope that lassoed bad guys until they told the truth, and an invisible plane to fly the skies undetected, fascinated me. When the movie came out two years ago, I was enthralled yet again with Diana’s story, even more so this time. I’m not usually one for period war movies, but I was mesmerized during the battles scenes. The strength and power with which she wielded her shield and sword, and most of all her courage to lead the fight for justice, waging war on behalf of all mankind, inspired me.

In my real-life universe, my mother was the woman I watched every day. Most of the time, her petite, five-foot frame makes a soft entrance to the room. She rarely raises her voice or engages in an argument. She raised five kids without fanfare or complaint and has managed to keep us all within reach where she can still keep tabs on us, and our ever-expanding tribe of partners, grandkids and great-granddaughters.

My mother is a legendary prayer. She has been for many years, ever since she found God at a Methodist church camp in the summer of ’75. There is a verse in the bible that says to pray about everything, and she took this verse literally. I’ve witnessed and heard her praying for sunshine and calm seas months before our family beach vacations, or that it wouldn’t thunderstorm during my wedding last July.

She has prayed for job interviews, that my sister’s missing dog wouldn’t fall victim to coyotes, that my niece born at twenty-seven weeks who spent three months in the NICU would not only survive, but also thrive. My mother prayed that my sister would carry her baby to full term, that her own breast cancer would be eradicated and that my brainy nephew would get a good grade on his exam.

I remember when a car going fifty-five miles per hour on a busy rural highway hit our beagle-mix mutt. My parents brought her to our basement, settled her comfortably on a blanket, then anointed her head with oil and prayed that she would live, so they wouldn’t have to look their five children in the eyes and tell them their beloved dog, Mickey, had died. I watched her pray my brother back to life, fully healed after falling out of a three-story window. She promptly ignored the doctor’s report that he wouldn’t finish college or be able to read again. My father likened her to a pit bull with a bone when it comes to praying for people she loves. She prays without ceasing.

My mother told me recently on one of our daily morning calls, that when she prays, she envisions herself dressed for battle, like the bible mentions in Ephesians. In her mind’s eye, she is wearing the full armor of God—helmet, shoes, belt, breastplate, shield, wielding her sword—with her family, the entire lot of us, standing behind her. In this alternate universe, she fearlessly goes before us, ready to fight anyone or anything to protect her mankind, her world. She is a warrior. I’m sure the devil trembles when she wakes up in the morning.

I took for granted the badass superhero she was and is, and spent far too much time looking for one elsewhere or dreaming of some other world when I had everything I needed right in front of me. I can only hope to carry on this tradition of waging battle in the realm where the real shit happens. I want to live in this world, where unexplained favor can get your resume to the top of the pile, where skies stop raining for your two-hour party, where minds suddenly change, bodies heal and miracles happen, where blinders fall off and light breaks through at just the right moment, and the thing you thought would never change, suddenly does, where battles are won, and you never even saw the fight because someone else was waging war on your behalf.

            The Hollywood version of Wonder Woman is entertaining, but I rarely have need for an invisible plane, a rope of truth, or wrist cuffs to ward off bullets. But a warrior like my mother, who has my back in this world, I need every single day. She is my hero. I am her fan. She is my Wonder Woman.

In honor of International Women's Day:

Consider The Elephant

Fully-grown elephants can be tethered in place with a small stake and thin cord. This defies all logic. The size, power and ability of the elephant allow them to easily uproot the stake and break the cord. Because the elephant is tethered as a calf with the same small stake and cord, tries to break free but can’t, they never try again. They believe this stake and cord are enough to hold them the rest of their life.

∞

As long as she could remember she was tethered with a small stake and thin cord: walking their path, creating a deeper rut with each day that passed. One day, she realized the power her body held. She yanked the stake out of the ground and broke the cord. Some days she ran as far as she could, some days she walked.  She never stood still again.

∞

Consider yourself: Tear the stake up and break the small cord that tethers you. You will never get anywhere, walking in circles, created by someone else, ruts growing deeper with every day that passes. Create your own circle; dig your own path; you are worthy of at least that.

kelly bargabos

The Blind Will See

I recently attended a major PGA event. After the superstars of the golf world finished sinking a putt in their eighteenth hole, the crowd left in droves. Hundreds of weary fans who had been out in the sun and on their feet all day following their favorite golfers from tee to tee, chasing their thirst with their drink of choice, now only wanted one thing: to get out of there as fast as possible. We crowded around the volunteers in bright yellow vests who were trying to herd all of us into a civil line to wait for the shuttle bus and surveyed our competition. There were only so many seats. Tension moved among us, taking up precious space, as people calculated their next move to ensure a spot on the bus.

The next shuttle pulled in, crept up to the loading point and unfolded its door. The crowd widened and moved forward as one, pulsing and pushing towards the open space that forced us to funnel one at a time on the bus. To our left, we heard a voice say, “Excuse me, please make a way. Excuse me. Excuse me.” The crowd turned to look at who had the audacity to expect such a thing. We saw a small thin man who seemed to be ninety-five years old or so, with a cane in his right hand and a blue veterans hat on his head. The crowd stilled and silently parted down the middle. I felt like I was witnessing a miracle, like Moses parting the Red Sea. We were united, for just a moment, committed to helping this man get on the bus that we all so badly wanted to board. The crowd waited and watched while the old veteran shuffled to the door and boarded the bus, one slow step at a time.

It restored my faith in humanity that despite our selfish agendas, we still had the ability to pay respect to those who’ve come before us, to show kindness and compassion to someone who needed it. We could see that this man needed a seat faster than the rest of us, that he couldn’t wait in line or navigate a pushy, aggressive crowd. We could see his advanced age and that he had served our country. None of this information was spoken to us. It was communicated visually. We could see it.

We are a visual culture. We often say things like, “I’ll believe it when I see it.” “Show Me the Money.” “Seeing is believing.” We are innocent until proven guilty, and in order to convict someone, we need proof, physical evidence that we can look at. We want eyewitnesses. We are a skeptical and cynical bunch and like to see things for ourselves. I wonder how the crowd would have reacted if when they turned toward the voice requesting special treatment, they saw an average-looking man or woman with no visible challenges, no visible reason to be allowed to the front of the line.

Navigating this world can be a little easier when we communicate things about ourselves visually. We have to explain less. We still don’t want people to make assumptions about us, but there is information available to the onlooker. You can usually see advanced age, a broken leg in a cast, a wheelchair or a uniform.

Unfortunately, for those with invisible disabilities, the challenges they are faced with on a daily basis are not visible to the rest of us, especially at first glance. Those that may suffer from PTSD, anxiety or panic disorder, Epilepsy, Narcolepsy, life-threatening food allergies, chronic lung disease, Rheumatoid Arthritis or cognitive limitations, to name only a few, may look just like the rest of us. Information about why they might need to go to the front of the line, or why they are taking longer than they should to check out, or why they are standing on the street corner holding a sign, is not immediately apparent. We are blind to the reason for their behavior. People with invisible disabilities are judged, misunderstood and often met with angry, impatient reactions to a request for special treatment.

I continue to challenge myself every day to SEE what may not be obvious or apparent. I’m committed to following these three steps when I encounter a person or situation that I don’t understand. I hope you’ll join me.

ü Stop.  Pause. Take a breath, a beat, a moment, before you do or say something impatient or hurtful, take a moment to consider.

ü Evaluate: Ask questions. Is there an impairment? Could there be more than what I see on the surface?

ü Empathize: Put yourself in their shoes. Give compassion.

I don’t always get it right, but I will keep trying to get there—one slow step at a time. Perhaps we can have more miracles, like Moses and the Red Sea, or the tired golf crowd and the old veteran, perhaps, the blind will see.

Stop.

Evaluate.

Empathize.

SEE.

SEIZED BY NUMBNESS

The following is an excerpt from the memoir, Chasing the Merry-Go-Round: Holding on to Hope & Home When the World Moves Too Fast, by Kelly Bargabos.

Narcolepsy snuck into Bobby’s life when we weren’t looking; in fact, we barely noticed at first. It started when Bobby was twenty-six or so, living at the leaning house on Walnut Street and working at the casino. When he first told me about his legs giving out at work, causing him to fall to the ground, his tray of drinks spilling on his uniform, and his glasses breaking as they hit the floor, I didn’t think too much of it. And then it happened again. And then I witnessed it. I was with Bobby in my mother’s kitchen and we were laughing. I don’t remember what was so funny, but Bobby was laughing pretty hard. His legs crumpled suddenly, and he fell with all his weight against the dryer. That’s when I knew something was happening in his body. When I began to research the symptom of one’s legs losing strength, I had no idea where to start. I typed the expression “legs give out when laughing” in the search window and discovered a name for what Bobby had been experiencing: cataplexy. I kept reading and learned that cataplexy is often a symptom of narcolepsy.

Narcolepsy is a chronic neurological disorder caused by the brain’s inability to regulate sleep-wake cycles, resulting in the overwhelming urge to sleep. Excessive daytime sleepiness (EDS) is the major symptom that characterizes narcolepsy.

Anytime Bobby was still for more than a minute or two, he fell asleep. When Bobby got in my car, he fell asleep before I turned the corner. I wouldn’t let him have a drink in my car after a cup of coffee dropped out of his hand when he dozed off and spilled all over the carpet and seat. He fell asleep while eating at the dinner table, his face landing in his plate of food. He fell asleep in the middle of a conversation. He even fell asleep while sitting on the toilet.

Cataplexy is the most common major symptom of narcolepsy other than EDS, occurring in about 70 percent of narcolepsy patients. The person can experience sudden loss of muscle tone leading to feelings of weakness and a loss of voluntary muscle control, which means that Bobby can be standing still or walking or sitting in a chair and then suddenly fall over. All 225 pounds of him can suddenly become lifeless, and he is unable to move until his legs regain their strength. He doesn’t lose consciousness during these episodes, but he can’t speak and he can’t stop it once it starts. He has to wait it out. Cataplexy can occur spontaneously and can be triggered by sudden, strong emotions such as fear, anger, stress, excitement, or laughter. It seems to happen often when Bobby least expects it. After dinner one night, he was putting his pan of leftover shepherd’s pie in the refrigerator. The pan was still warm with his favorite comfort food—mashed potatoes, peas, beef, and gravy—that our Mom used to make for us when we were young. As Bobby bent over to find room on the middle shelf, he fell hard into the metal microwave rack next to his refrigerator and gouged a wound in his side and stomach. When I saw him a few days later, there was a deep, purple gash from his chest to his waist. 

As I learned more about narcolepsy, I passed the information on to the rest of my family. Some of the things we had been noticing in Bobby began to make sense. Several people, including my mother, often thought Bobby was drunk or stoned because his eyes were droopy and his speech slurred. He wasn’t, this was just what he looked and acted like with EDS. He wasn’t falling asleep all the time because he was lazy. It wasn’t because he was overweight; in fact, obesity can be a side effect of narcolepsy.

Narcolepsy may have snuck in, but it was here to stay and demanded that we take notice. I explained narcolepsy to Bobby and shared all that I had learned. Bobby tried talking to his family doctor about his symptoms, but the doctor wouldn’t listen. This wasn’t unusual. Receptionists, doctors, and nurses didn’t really see him. They usually didn’t have the patience to wait while Bobby got his words out. He was easily intimidated and often didn’t understand what they said to him; they didn’t take the time to explain. 

For his next appointment, I sent Bobby with information I had printed from the Internet about narcolepsy. The physician’s assistant read the information and researched it herself. She prescribed Provigil for Bobby, a controlled substance, which is a stimulant used to treat EDS.

            It was a major accomplishment to have something that would help him stay awake; however, it was very expensive. Bobby had been stuck in an endless loop of insurance issues. If he had a job, he would lose any Medicaid benefits because he “makes too much money.” Then he couldn’t afford the Provigil. Without Provigil he couldn’t stay awake long enough to get through his shift and he would lose his job. Once he lost his job, he would apply for and get Medicaid reinstated, only to lose it again when he got a new job.

I began to notice the discrimination against people with intellectual disabilities. Our culture values strength over weakness, intellect over character, and accomplishment over a simpler life. Therefore, a segment of our population is systemically and repeatedly marginalized—unseen and unheard. When someone has physical disabilities that are invisible and intellectual limitations that aren’t always obvious, life is challenging in ways that most of us don’t understand.

You wouldn’t know any of this about my brother when you first looked at him. He looks like any other thirty-something guy. We need to allow for the possibility that we can’t see everything at first glance. Most people have a reason why they can’t do what we expect them to do. There is a reason why they can’t move as fast as the rest of us, why they stand when they’re supposed to be sitting, why they fall asleep when they should be awake, why they hold a sign on a street corner when we think they should be working.

Not long after, Bobby became very ill with pneumonia. It took an ER visit by ambulance and a week-long hospital stay to get his Medicaid reinstated. Once we did, I made an appointment for him at the neurology clinic at Upstate University Hospital. This was the first time he was examined by a neurologist. Frustrated that doctors didn’t seem to take Bobby seriously, I had decided that I would not only go to every doctor’s appointment with him but I would also go in the examining room. I explained to the doctor why I was convinced he had narcolepsy. I told him about the cataplexy, and the EDS that had started about six years ago, and how the incidents happened more and more often now. I explained that the physician’s assistant at his primary care doctor had prescribed Provigil, and it seemed to help. I asked the neurologist about other treatments for narcolepsy, specifically cataplexy. Despite my research, medical conclusions, and stories of Bobby’s daily life, the doctor refused to treat him for narcolepsy without an official diagnosis. I refused to leave the examining room until he agreed to refer Bobby for a multiple sleep latency test—the test used to diagnose narcolepsy.

More than six years after first noticing Bobby’s symptoms, we secured an appointment at the sleep clinic. I was anxious for the official report, and after a few days I called the sleep lab and spoke with the attending physician. He told me “Robert is a classic textbook case of narcolepsy.” He mentioned the cataplectic episode that he had witnessed when Bobby was called from the waiting room, and that he observed Bobby falling asleep later that night while getting water, during lunch the next day, and during conversation. A week later we had the official report and diagnosis.

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The word narcolepsy comes from two Greek words roughly translated as “seized by numbness.” Experts don’t know for sure what causes it. Studies have shown that the neurological disorder may be caused by a number of genetic or biological factors in the brain, combined with an environmental trigger during the brain’s development, such as a virus. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was related to his diagnosis of Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, and that the environmental trigger in his case could be the alcohol and drugs his mother consumed while she was pregnant with him, or maybe it was the malnutrition he suffered as a baby, or the trauma resulting from his infant head hitting a wall. It didn’t really matter what caused it. The diagnosis explained the symptoms that had seized Bobby’s body and his life, but it wouldn’t change anything or prevent it from happening.

Narcolepsy would keep Bobby in this nightmare where he’s never fully awake and where peaceful sleep does not exist. His dream of having his own corner of the world—his grass to mow, his flowers to plant, his driveway to shovel, his home—died a little more each day.

Kelly Bargabos, a recent transplant from upstate NY to Southern California, is a witness and voice for those with invisible disabilities, as well as an advocate for narcolepsy awareness. While cultural ideals of what a “normal” life looks like can distort our perspective, Chasing the Merry-Go-Round allows readers to see the world through the eyes of a person with intellectual and physical disabilities, which can often be invisible, especially at first glance. Check out www.chasingthemerrygoround.com for more information.

Helping Ourselves and Others Cope With Invisible Disabilities

Many of us struggle with or are close to someone who struggles with invisible disabilities. Invisible disabilities come in many forms.  From depression and anxiety to severe allergies, from intellectual limitations to autoimmune diseases, these disorders exist all around us. An invisible disability, whether physical, mental or neurological, is one that is not obvious at first glance. They are hidden from our view. There is no outward sign that fits our culture’s preconceived ideas of what defines a disability. An invisible disability causes limitations with movements, senses or activities, or creates other challenges that can make ordinary life more difficult. Because of the invisible nature, people that struggle with these are most often judged, misunderstood and marginalized. Some common examples include: Psychiatric disorders (depression, PTSD, bi-polar, schizophrenia); Intellectual limitations (Learning Disabilities, low IQ, Traumatic Brain Injury); Physical (Narcolepsy, Epilepsy, Chronic Pain)

HOW do we help those we love cope with these disorders?

For me it’s about these three things—

Awareness. Understanding. Acceptance.

 1) Awareness is the first step to understanding.

·        Learn all you can about the disability.  To be able to help someone with an invisible disability, it is important to seek knowledge about their disability—what are you dealing with? What is the scope of limitations or challenges they endure? What treatments or medications are available to them? Where and how can their boundaries be challenged or pushed? For example, a person with allergies can possibly pre-medicate if they need to be somewhere where a dog is present.  But a person with toxic sensitivities does not have an option.  And while the potential of a person with limited intellectual capacity can be maximized, pushing for more than this can cause frustration and a sense of defeat. Having said all that, more than anything else, we need to allow for the possibility that we may not know everything about a person or what they are struggling with.

   

    2) Understanding will allow us to make a difference.

·      Realize what you have in common.  People with invisible disabilities want the same things you want.

o   To be seen and heard. To have a voice.

o   To be part of something bigger than themselves and to add value to this world in the form of family, friendships, workplace, relationships

Most of all, they want to be seen for who they are, not by what they can or cannot do.

·       Encourage them to aspire to and create the broadest life possible.  Whether this entails medication, special training, or environmental assistance, make certain that you reach for everything you can to help provide the fullest life possible. Let go of what you “think” they should aspire to and need to be happy. Challenge the cultural ideals of “normal.”

·       Understand and help overcome frustrations.  The anxiety-ridden friend who cannot commit to a social gathering may be annoying.  The person with environmental allergies who asks what chemicals you use before they come over may seem out of line. The relative with bi-polar disorder who inhibits conversation at the dinner table may seem unbearable. But know that for all your frustration with them, their frustration with themselves is far greater.  Showing understanding while letting them know they are valued goes a long way in alleviating their frustrations—and   yours.

3) Acceptance is the most powerful gift we can give.

·        Give the gifts of acceptance and love.  We all want to feel relevant. We all want to feel we have a place in the world, and in the hearts and minds of others. But when we have an invisible disability, these feelings can be elusive.  By providing unconditional acceptance and love, we turn the elusive into reality.

HOW can we put this awareness, understanding and acceptance into daily practice?

The SEE Approach

EVERYDAY, all of us encounter people in different situations and form judgments right away, without all the facts. It is human nature. Often, there is more to the story than what we see at first glance. I have developed a simple formula or acronym to challenge myself to approach people I encounter in a different way. I call it the SEE approach.

o   Stop.  Pause. Take a breath, a beat, a moment, before you do or say something impatient or hurtful, take a moment to consider.

o   Evaluate: Ask questions. Is there impairment? Could there be more than what I see on the surface?

o   Empathize: Put yourself in their shoes. Give compassion.

Stop.

Evaluate.

Empathize.

SEE.

-KB